


your heart got teeth

by ShipperTrash140109



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends With Benefits, Light Angst, M/M, Porn With Plot, bryce dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 22:50:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20496638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipperTrash140109/pseuds/ShipperTrash140109
Summary: Winston never really knew if the hook-ups were going to be one of the nights where they can fuck around and act like two stupid dickheads with too much spare time on their hands, or if it’s going to be one of those nights where neither say a word and Winston gets fucked within an inch of his life before tuning into ‘Monty’s wild lifeTM’ until Monty crashes and Winston is left stroking the lines of his face as if he can remove them for good, as if he could erase years of torment with a swipe of his thumbAkaBryce is dead and Monty is a little sad, Winston has always been a good listener





	your heart got teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Whaddup, here's another one, I'm feeling a bit better about this one, hope y'all enjoy and leave a comment if you do! It helps me out a bunch
> 
> This is only partly beta'd so all mistakes are mine

_‘Coming over’_

Two words that summed up the entire history of their text conversations. And also, the only two words Winston needed to see to know he wasn’t getting much sleep that night.

It was a Sunday night, Winston hadn’t been doing anything too important- touching up some photos he’d taken earlier that day for an art assignment fast approaching- some complex shit with mixed media, painting, ink, photos- it had chewed up a lot of his time as of recent, and luckily for his marks it had been relatively quiet on the Monty front- which usually indicated he wasn’t doing to bad- as far as his rough life goes, anyway. Though, to be honest, he couldn’t be doing too well considering his friend was still missing, up until today, that is.

He wasn’t surprised to receive the text, it had been a while, and some recent news might’ve ruined Monty’s week… or month… or year- anyway, usually Monty couldn’t go half this long without something fucking up or him just getting bored. Winston responded with an ‘ok’ and quickly set about cleaning up a bit- not because he gave a shit if Monty saw his room a little messy, but because he never knew where the athlete would decide to fuck him- he could get very creative considering there was an incredibly comfortable king size just a few steps away.

Perhaps if he’d been more pressed for time with the assignment he’d have said no, even with the bombshell about the Walker guy dropping earlier, he hadn’t denied Monty yet but he didn’t like the idea of doing such a thing- he’d much prefer having a sore ass for a few days than not know what else Monty was doing to expel his emotions if this were an escapist hookup. Drinking, illegal substances, hurting someone- the possibilities were endless.

When Monty pulls up to escape something, even though Winston can see the hurt in his eyes, or on his skin, Monty never hurts him, not really, even though he was a minor inconvenience from exploding, he never hurts him. Sometimes by the end Winston can hear him sobbing, can feel him shaking, and then he takes up his other pastime with Monty- listening.

At Hillcrest, plenty of kids have daddy or mummy issues- Winston included- but not to Monty’s degree, no. Having your parents away most of every week or being frowned upon silently was nothing compared to the shit Monty had thrown at him, at least when you went to Hillcrest you’re likely loaded enough to pay someone to listen. Monty de la Cruz didn’t have that, but he had Winston- and that was enough.

Winston never really knew if the hook-ups were going to be one of the nights where they can fuck around and act like two stupid dickheads with too much spare time on their hands, or if it’s going to be one of those nights where neither say a word and Winston gets fucked within an inch of his life before tuning into ‘Monty’s wild lifeTM’ until Monty crashes and Winston is left stroking the lines of his face as if he can remove them for good, as if he could erase years of torment with a swipe of his thumb.

He spends the rest of the time before Monty shows up thoroughly preparing himself- it’s not that Monty wouldn’t do it, no he’s offered before- but if the man is worked up Winston would rather get on with it, enjoy riding out the waves of the other’s frustration rather than laying in tense silence until he’s ready. Yep, he was quite fine doing it himself, thank you very much.

He could tell the second he heard the front door slam what the night would be like, and almost shocked himself with how eagerly he sprung to his feet to meet Monty at the door to his room, upon laying eyes on the other, he had but a moment to note the lines under his eyes before there were hungry lips on his and two firm hands; one fisted in his shirt and the other squeezing at his ass, feet shuffling on the carpet and Winston almost stumbling as Monty leans on and off of the shorter man as he toes off his shoes, mouth never leaving as he drops his hands to pull his sweats off, Winston’s hands flying to either side of the other’s face to hold their lips together as Monty struggles with the item of clothing.

By the time Winston groans in annoyance at the holdup, the brunet is done, throwing them away harshly before shoving his partner down onto the mattress, Winston’s chest aching for a moment where he’d been pushed but the pain being quickly forgotten as he moves to yank off his boxer briefs- he hadn’t bothered to put his pants back on after he’d finished getting ready, he didn’t think Monty minded, but then he wouldn’t be able to tell, his face was practically blank.

Monty slammed his hand down over the rubber already waiting in its packet on the nightstand, moodily stripping the rest of the way as he fiddled with the foil, and Winston barely had adequate time to unbutton his shirt enough to drag it off before there was the heavy weight of an athlete blanketing him from head to toe, his hands pushing down against the insides of the dark-haired man’s thighs as he pushily wriggled his hips until they were flush to the undersides of said thighs. Monty let his forehead rest against a bony collarbone, eyes cast downwards between their bodies as he coated himself up in lube, usually this was the point where he’d laugh and say “impatient weren’t you? Little Hillcrest whore” or something along those lines in that shit-eating tone of his if he were in a good mood- except he wasn’t, so all Winston got for his troubles were a hum and then a thick cock filling him right up to the brim in one fluid motion.

Winston lost his breath for a moment, gasping for air as his nails bit scratches into Monty’s broad shoulders, a concept that left the Hillcrest student even more breathless than he already was- mark him up, let his teammates know he’s giving it- giving it good. It was a dirty thought, and Winston felt his skin flush bright red, swallowing thickly and loosening his grip on the flesh underneath his fingers for a moment- up until Monty gave the first hard thrust and he was left holding on for dear life once again.

Much like an expensive sports car, Monty could go naught to sixty in seconds, and after the first few tentative rolls of his hips, he sped up, and soon the room was filled with the loud smack of golden flesh to ivory and the bitten off yelps from Winston- he should’ve known Monty wouldn’t disappoint- he never had and likely never will.

Winston’s legs are tight around Monty’s hips, quivering with each powerful roll of his hips, crossed at the ankles with heels digging into the dimples at the bottom of the larger man’s back. Under his palms he can feel the muscle ripple and flex as Monty moves, arms straining to hold him up where he’s braced against his elbows, forearms laying along either side of Winston’s head. Each harsh breath of the athlete’s fans out hot and wet over Winston’s neck, the skin tingling at the sensation, teeth edging the skin into ridging with goose-bumps, he wondered what it would feel like if Monty bit down, bit down until Winston’s pale skin turned red and stayed red for days- it would hurt but would Winston care? He would’ve entertained the thought more if Monty hadn’t nailed him directly in the prostate at that moment, ripping a yelp from the smaller man’s throat and driving his nails into the golden skin of Monty’s back, drawing angry red lines over the skin and tempting a growl from between Monty’s teeth.

Now that he’d located the spot to make Winston squirm, the assault on that sensitive bundle inside of him never faltered, and soon a continuous wave of keening and begging joined the creak of the bed and the quiet knocking of the frame against the wall. Winston felt like every inch of his skin was on fire where it touched Monty- the other’s emotions crackling in his veins and in the air around them, sending shocks of electricity up his back with each carefully aimed thrust.

Winston knows he won’t last long, not at this rate, not with Monty like this, fucking into him so hard he can’t string a word together, can only hold on and make sounds that would make a professional pornstar blush. Monty is a little more contained- he always is, but even those quiet bitten off groans and shaky hitches in his breath are music to Winston’s ears.

Winston’s gotten good at telling when Monty won’t last much longer- at the start it always caught him a bit off guard, but after the first few meetings he quickly became privy to the motions of Monty’s body. Whenever Monty was on the brink he’d grab something, usually the bed or a pillow and squeeze, squeeze till his arm grew lined with thick veins, the even rolls of his hips became harsh, and he’d grind up and into Winston as he pushed in, those one were what really made Winston’s head go light and fuzzy, and by then he’d be seconds from finishing as well.

Somehow managing to drag a hand away from a muscled shoulder, he shoved it between their bodies, the sweat from their exertions proving close enough to lube- and if it wasn’t enough he didn’t notice, not in this state. It only took a few tugs helped along by Monty’s almost torturous grinding before Winston was choking on his own gasps for breath, his body going tense and back turning rigid as he arches up against the man on top of him, their chests brushing as Winston’s practically sobs in relief, his stomach and hand growing slick from his own spend.

The tensing of his body has a domino effect on Monty, and soon the other man drives in hard and fast and stays there, hips twitching and mouth parting in a ragged groan as he empties into the rubber, staying slotted between Winston’s legs, hips flush to the slighter man’s as he comes down, his weight on top of Winston almost suffocating- but Winston found that he didn’t mind- didn’t mind at all, in fact.

When Monty rolled off him, he barely looked at Winston before sitting on the edge of the bed, tying off and tossing the used condom into the bin beside Winston’s desk, then he stayed there, back bent and head cast down. The dark-haired man watched wordlessly, eyes dragging over the tense shoulders, eyeing off a bead of sweat as it works its way down Monty’s back. Winston swallowed thickly, hand wiping at the hair stuck to his forehead, his breathing the loudest sound in the room. He’d almost forgotten why Monty would’ve come here, and when he remembered he wasn’t much surprised to see the other so withdrawn.

Exhausted, all his fight drained from him in the tight heat of Winston’s ass, Monty probably didn’t feel much of anything- how could he? Half the time all he had was his anger. Winston sighed, he wasn’t sure what to do- what could you say when your friend? Was that what they were? Your ‘friend’ with benefits’ friend had been found dead. Sorry for your loss? That might get him a ‘fuck you’ he felt useless just lying there watching Monty’s shoulders grow more and more tense as he buried himself deeper and deeper into whatever he was thinking about- but then he didn’t want to make anything worse by trying to help and fucking it up.

He’d give Monty time- usually if Monty was troubled, he’d work up the courage to talk about it after a moment or two of getting his head back on track after a hard fuck. Then even if he didn’t talk maybe he’d lay back and let Winston hug him until he could convince himself this world might not be completely against him.

As if something almighty had been listening to Winston’s prayers, just like that, Monty huffed and flung himself back against the mattress, Winston barely having enough time to scoot out of the way of being landed on. He still kept quiet, carefully watching the man next to him.

“You’ve probably heard- about Bryce…” when Monty looks at him Winston offers a tight-lipped nod, he’s nervous, he doesn’t want to fuck this up. “Fucking dead” he breathed, voice pitchy like his throat’s too tight to get the words out.

He goes silent, and looks away from Winston, eyes on the ceiling, twitching from side to side as if he’s having trouble stitching all his thoughts together. When he speaks his voice breaks, and if he starts crying Winston knows he’s going to feel terrible, might just start crying himself. “People keep- they keep fucking saying I love him- I don’t… he’s my brother…” it’s sad, sad that Monty can’t even say he loves someone who was almost like a brother to him because he was scared of who would hear- scared he would be misunderstood- it made Winston’s blood boil that this guy was so caged, so scared.

He doesn’t know what to say- you’re okay? Because Monty wasn’t, he really wasn’t, even if Bryce was still alive Monty wouldn’t be okay. ‘I’m sorry’? ‘For what’ Monty would say, and Winston can imagine the cold look behind those sad eyes.

So, he did the only other thing he could do- he shuffled closer and he wrapped his arms around Monty, pressed his lips briefly to his cheek, and he held on, held on as Monty rolled them over, Winston on his back and the brunet holding onto him like a lifeline. Winston held on as his skin grew wet with hot tears- his own threatening to spill, and he held on until Monty tired himself out, until he fell asleep and Winston could once again stroke the lines on his face.

Maybe one day he’ll be able to straighten them out forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and remember to drop a comment!!


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